Considering the name of this site, I felt I should have at least one proper
pulp-style story. Well, here is the beginning of an adventure of the
Silencer, a costumed hero in the vein of classic pulp characters such
as the Shadow or the Spider. Another Silencer adventure, Countdown
to Death, can be found in Double Danger Tales #48, on sale now from
Fading Shadows Publications.
After reading this excerpt, you may be wondering where the Silencer
is in there. Hint: He is out of costume this time.
The Crime Ray
It was an ordinary Wednesday morning, almost nine o'clock.
There was a melodic chime as the door leading into King's
Drugstore was pushed open. A woman entered. She must have
been in her mid-thirties and was wearing a brown wool coat over
a dress of flowered calico. A tan felt hat sat on top of brown
hair, cut fashionably short.
She seemed to be a regular customer here, for she walked right up
to the counter without throwing even a passing glance at the shelves
that lined the walls of the shop. Richard Blakemore was standing in
front of one of those shelves, comparing brands of razor blades and
shaving cream, as the woman walked past. She did not acknow- ledge him,
she did not even seem to see him. Or maybe she did not want to see him.
For although her clothes were worn and cheap-looking, there was an air
of propriety about her. Whereas Blakemore - disheveled after a long night
of crimefighting - looked like a bum.
The woman was tightly clutching an oversized handbag, Blakemore noticed
bemusedly. He smiled. Looked like she was scared that he would rob her.
While in reality he spent his nights making the city safe for people like
her.
She had almost reached the counter by now. It was clear that she was known
in this shop, for the sales clerk - a freckled boy of about sixteen - greeted
her with, "Good morning, Mrs Kowalski. The usual?" He bent behind the counter
to fetch whatever it was that Mrs Kowalski usually bought here. A few seconds
later he emerged again, putting a small white cardboard box and a medicine
bottle of brown glass onto the enamel-topped counter.
Mrs Kowalski was digging for something in that large handbag of hers. Her
purse most likely. The clerk smiled expectantly. Mrs Kowalski had apparently
found whatever she had been searching, for she took something from her
handbag and pointed it towards the clerk with an outstretched arm. For a
split second, Blakemore caught a glimpse of the object in her hand and saw
that it was not a purse.
At the next instant, a shot echoed through the drugstore. Little droplets
of blood sprayed across the shelves as the clerk collapsed. Instinctively,
Blakemore dove for cover behind a cardboard display advertising Burns'
Anti-Cough Syrup. He watched with fascinated horror as the woman pointed
her gun at the cash register and fired a second time. The register sprang
open, and the woman calmly took bundles of dollar bills from the drawer and
stuffed them into her handbag. Finally she dumped the gun - still smoking,
still hot - on top of the money and closed the handbag. Then she turned
around and walked out of the shop. She passed within a few inches of the
advertising display behind which Blakemore was crouching, yet she did not
see him. She just walked past, completely calm, in no hurry at all.
Throughout the whole episode she had not spoken one word. The melodic chime
of the doorbell sounded again, as she stepped out into the street.
Richard Blakemore emerged from his cover behind the advertising display.
For an instant he was unsure what to do now. Should he follow the woman
who was, after all, a cold-blooded murderer and needed to be apprehended?
On the other hand, the sales clerk who had been shot might still be alive
and in desperate need of medical attention. Now. Whereas the woman did not
seem to be in any hurry to get away.
Blakemore rushed to the spot behind the counter where the sales clerk had
fallen. Still he was too late. A large hole, about one inch in diameter,
gaped in the boy's forehead, right between the eyes. Blood was dripping
from it, streaming over the boy's freckled cheeks, into his pale blond
hair and onto the tiled floor. The eyes were vacant now, but there still
was a lingering look of surprise about them. A smile of professional
friendliness was frozen onto the boy's dead lips.
Blakemore got up and looked around him for a phone. He finally found one
in the small backroom behind the shop. He picked up the receiver.
"Yes, operator. I'd like to speak to the police please..."
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